


Breath of Blossoms

by Nomanono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Unrequited Love, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-18 22:57:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono
Summary: What Yuuri feels is not quite romantic love, not quite familial love, not quite passionate love. Above all, it's not quite what Victor desperately needs to survive.Non-Deathalternate story branch available.





	1. It Must Be a Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marmalade_sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmalade_sky/gifts).



> Answering a request from Marmalade_Sky for angst - the unrequited love sort, where Yuuri never quite feels for Victor what Victor feels for Yuuri.
> 
> As a bonus request, there's [Hanahaki Disease](http://onehallyu.com/topic/254949-hanahaki-disease/). I'd never heard of it before, so this is going to be an interesting challenge!
> 
> [Russian translation](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5445677) by [MrBrightside](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBrightside/pseuds/MrBrightside)

_Look at this video! Almost better than you_ , the text read. Chris had an indulgent emoji habit, so it was followed by a winky face, a kissy face, and several hearts in different colors and styles.

But Victor didn’t see any of that. He braced his fingers on his forehead and pressed play on the video, the freeze-frame alone enough to make his heart flutter. 

It was the boy from the banquet. Yuuri Katsuki. 

The Japanese skater had fallen, terribly, and ended well below the other competitors in the Grand Prix. But then there had been the banquet…

Victor stared at the video, following the form, the gesture, the arc of Katsuki’s body. He was out of shape, but it didn’t seem to matter. He performed perfectly enough Victor could see parts of himself in the nuance.

At the banquet, Yuuri Katsuki had had too much to drink. Far too much. Victor hadn’t paid him much mind during the competition. Victor responded well to attention but didn’t dole it out on strangers, and Katsuki had kept adamantly to himself. But when he was overflowing with champagne?

By the end of the night, that one Japanese boy had all of them in various stages of undress, dancing and posing and laughing. Yuuri had come to him, hand extended, and pulled Victor into an aggressive, if sloppy, dance that was some approximation of tango or pasodoble. He’d looked so sure of himself, so drunkenly confident, leading Victor across the dance floor, dipping him and giving him passionate poses to mirror. 

Victor pressed play again on the video. 

Yuuri had come to Victor, undulating against him, and said:

“If I win this dance battle, you’ll become my coach, right?”

And then, throwing his arms around Victor:

“Be my coach, Victor!”

And that was the moment. 

Sometimes, in life, one is acutely aware of the world shifting around them. One second and everything is changed, even if it looks just the same. That is what Victor felt: a profound pivot of his entire being as his soul aligned itself around this new axis. 

He didn’t think anything of the petal he found on his pillowcase the next morning. 

_Well!?!?_ Chris’ text popped up at the top of the screen.

 _It’s good_.

There were other competitions after the Grand Prix. Nationals, world championships, but Yuuri was at none of them, even if Victor found himself hoping to see his face. But then, Yuuri hadn’t even wanted a photo with him the day after the banquet.

 _Just good?! You’re not looking at his ass._ Chris texted. Butt emoji. Kissy face. Splayed hands. Winky face. 100% emoji. 

But then why post this? Victor pressed play for the third time, watching his routine unfold across the ice via a smaller, thicker body. 

A beautiful body. 

Victor blushed, coughed, touched his throat where it suddenly felt tight, obstructed by his emotions. 

Yuuri had said his parents owned a resort, and before Victor could think twice about it he was flipping through search results. Two hours later he had plane tickets and a reservation, and the very next day he found himself stepping off a plane in Fukuoka and collecting Maccachin. 

Hasetsu, Yuuri’s home, was as beautiful as Yuuri, and Victor availed himself of the hot springs to relax post travel. He found his eyes wandering the place, taking in all of the little details. The tanuki guarding the pond, the carved fountain. The moss encroaching at the edges of the stone tiles. He drank it like a parched man, wondering what these tiny truths might tell him about Yuuri. 

He was settling in when Yuuri arrived, out of breath, in a panic. 

And Victor laughed, because his heart felt light at the sight of him, even fumbling, startled, and embarrassed as he was. Victor stood from the bath and extended his hand, welcoming Yuuri to his world. 

—

He fell more in love every day.

Yuuri was unlike anything Victor had known before. He was shy and insecure, lacking in self confidence and physically unfit but with a secret passion and determination that burned against all odds. It entranced Victor, leaving him breathless - and Yuuri hadn’t even made it onto the ice.

Yuko, who managed the rink where Yuuri practiced, talked idly to Victor one day as he rested.

“Maccachin looks just like Vicchan,” she said. “Yuuri got him because you had Maccachin, you know. And he named him after you.”

“Me?” Victor found it hard to believe.

“He’s spent his entire career trying to follow in your footsteps,” Yuko laughed.

Victor smiled at that, his heart racing. So, perhaps Yuuri felt something special towards Victor, too.

“Let’s sleep together,” Victor said, and startled Yuuri allowed it. Victor curled on the floor beside Yuuri’s bed, asking him quiet questions into the night, until Yuuri stopped responding, fast asleep. Victor was practically buzzing from adoration, but it manifested as a fit of coughs, suddenly feeling a scratch in his throat that he couldn’t quite muffle. He tried to press his face into the blanket, but there was something in the back of his throat, then on his tongue, and as he pulled away, still coughing, he found three petals on the blanket - soft pink things.

Victor frowned, staring at them, and decided he must be imagining it.

But when he woke up the petals were still there, and his throat still felt sore, and Yuuri yelped in surprise when he stood up from bed, like he always did, and accidentally stepped on Victor. 

“Gomen’nasai!” Yuuri said. “I’m sorry!” 

“It’s OK, Yuuri. Calm down,” Victor soothed, standing and gliding his fingers from Yuuri’s elbow to his wrist, where he could hold his hand. “Tell me about your dreams.”

Yuuri was blushing, stuttering. “Oh I - I don’t really… remember my dreams.”

“Don’t you?” Victor asked, leaning close, eyes searching Yuuri’s.

His head shook quickly.

“Shame,” Victor lamented. He dropped Yuuri’s wrist, though that small bit of contact was enough to have him aching. “You should get to your workout, then,” he said, touching Yuuri’s stomach instead. “I still haven’t gotten to see you on the ice.”

Another blush, and then a bow, and Yuuri was dressing in an instant and heading out.

Victor watched him depart and sighed, looking down at the three petals. He scooped them up in his hand and went to the window, offering the wisps of dreams to the sky. The wind lifted them out of Victor’s palm and twirled them up, up, and out of sight. 

Surely, surely, it was just a dream.


	2. Onsen On Ice

Yuri’s arrival brought yet more chaos to Hasetsu.

Victor had forgotten entirely about his promise, but a forgotten promise was still a promise, and so Victor set out to make both Yuris happy. 

It was only with Yuri to compare to that he realized how distant Yuuri was with him, always fidgeting, blushing, backing away when Victor tried to get close. Yuri would sit with him, eat with him, laugh with him, but Yuuri stayed on the sidelines, and then disappeared altogether.

“By my place she meant my ballet studio,” Minako said, pouring Victor a shot of sake. “Or the rink.”

Victor drank and listened to her stories about Yuuri. He was introverted, didn’t make very many friends, didn’t have any girlfriends. He had the rink, and the ice, and the dance studio, and… 

That was nearly all.

With his belly warmed, Victor trekked to the rink and found Yuuri gliding over the ice, eyes distant, thinking about… what?

_Where do you go, when you’re on the ice?_

_Who are you thinking of?_

“He isn’t very outgoing,” Yuuko said, and Victor felt that itch in his throat. He touched his sternum, stilling the discomfort there, and made his decision.

“Not yet,” he said, and went to work.

It was easy to choreograph for them. Victor opened his ribcage, took out his heart, and cast it onto the ice. 

All he wanted was a small piece of what he threw down in return. 

“Have you ever thought about love?” Victor asked them. 

And Yuuri broke his heart anew: “No.”

_I want you to think of it on the ice_ , Victor thought. _I want you to think of me on the ice, and I want you to see yourself the way I do._

He played their music, first Agape, then Eros, and Victor’s heart thudded along in time as he imagined Yuuri’s routine.

_Perhaps, you’ll realize that this is my love letter to you, Yuuri Katsuki._

“Yuuri, you will take Eros. And Yurio - Agape,” he declared. They both reacted as he’d expected: Yuuri wanted nothing to do with sexual love. Victor had prepared himself, but it still made his throat itch.

“If I win, Victor, you’re coming back to Russia. And you’ll be my coach!” Yuri insisted.

Victor watched Yuuri out the corner of his eye. Did Yuuri care? Did Yuri’s demand create the same spike of fear in Yuuri that Victor felt? There was something, and yet — 

Victor covered his mouth, coughed, felt something soft hit his palm. He kept his hand closed as he lowered it, but the texture was familiar. He knew what he’d see.

“Sure,” Victor agreed. There it was. Yuuri’s eyes widened - fear of loss at last. Victor braced himself, daring to hope. “Yuuri, what about you? What would you like to do if you win?”

“…Katsudon,” Yuuri murmured. 

That… wasn’t what Victor had expected. 

“I want to eat katsudon with you, Victor.” 

It felt like someone was squeezing his chest, like an enormous balloon was pressing on the inside of his ribs, trying to burst open. Of all the types of pain Victor had felt in his life, this one was perhaps the most exquisite. Victor stared at Yuuri, whose cheeks glowed with determination, resolute and passionate and Victor so desperately wanted it to be for him. 

“I’ll give it all the Eros I’ve got!” 

When they left, Victor finally opened his palm, and the little pink petals joined the sakura blossoms on the wind.

—

Yuuri said he would give it all the eros he had, but his theme, his choreography… it didn’t land the way Victor had hoped. He watched Yuuri try, yet there was always something missing. Like a foreign word that Yuuri simply didn’t have the ability to say. Of course, he could hit the moves. Of course, he could look beautiful doing it. 

But the drive that Victor had imbued into the choreography was gone.

He stood beside Yurio as he was struck at the temple. He sent them to the waterfalls for contemplation. 

At last, Yurio seemed to find his center, but Yuuri?

“For your hair, I was thinking something like this,” Victor said, taking the comb from Yuuri. He scooped a bit of gel into his hand and slid it between the tines. Moving behind Yuuri, it was easy to glide the comb back through his dark locks, pulling them away from his face. “Swooped back, so we can see your full face,” he said, doing the same to the sides. “It’s strong, and powerful.”

Teasing: “Like your eros for katsudon.”

Yuuri turned bright red, same as he had when he’d first declared that his sexual love came from the meal.

Victor continued to slide the comb through Yuuri’s hair, using a bit more gel, and continuing even long after it had set. Yuuri was being quiet, calm, and for once Victor didn’t have that uncomfortable tingle in his sternum. 

The petals hadn’t stopped. Every day Victor fell more in love, and every night, when they parted to sleep, he would toss in his bed, coughing softly until the little pink flecks came out. 

It was getting harder to pretend it was a dream.

“Do you like it?” Yuuri asked, interrupting Victor’s thoughts. He realized that the comb had stopped, and he’d just been resting with his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders, gazing at him in the mirror. 

Victor forced himself not to blush. He lowered his chin to Yuuri’s shoulder.

It felt so good. For all of the ache, and the itch, the contact felt like a salve. 

“You’re beautiful,” Victor said, looking at him in the mirror.

Yuuri blushed, squirming, and dislodged Victor’s chin.

“Victor —,” he started, but didn’t know how to end it. 

“Rest. You need to be ready for tomorrow,” Victor said, sliding his fingers through Yuuri’s hair one last time. 

“If I don’t win —” Yuuri started. 

“You can.” 

Victor paused at the door and glanced back over his shoulder. 

“I believe in you.”

But he said it like _I love you_.


	3. Yuuri's Love

It wasn’t until Yuri took to the ice that Victor first felt his heart drop. He’d forgotten the promise he’d made to return to Russia, but watching Yuri perform - far better than any of his previous runs - caused a sudden rent in Victor’s confidence. If Yuuri choked… if Yuuri did what he did at the Grand Prix…

The tightness in Victor’s throat welled up again. He grabbed a tissue and held it over his mouth as he coughed. It was more than normal: a cascade of petals ejected into the tissue, at least seven of the tiny pink things. 

Victor crumpled the tissue away and tried not to think about leaving Hasetsu. He focused on the lights, and the crowd, and the twinkling, feathered monster on the ice.

When Yuri’s performance was over, Victor managed to cheer, but his attention had already turned to Yuuri. 

Yuuri, who stared down at his skates, expression panicked. 

“Watch me,” Yuuri begged, as if Victor was capable of anything else. _Watch me_ with such desperation in his eyes. “I’ll be the tastiest katsudon you’ve ever seen.”

They embraced, and Victor tilted his cheek against Yuuri’s hair. 

“I love katsudon,” Victor whispered. That’s what Yuri called him: katsudon. 

_Don’t you understand, Yuuri?_

But Yuuri was already on the ice, skating to the center of the rink wearing the same outfit Victor had worn to get his gold. 

Victor leaned on the rink wall, all of his hopes balanced on two fine blades. 

As the music began, it wasn’t Yuuri who performed — at least, not the Yuuri Victor knew. This new Yuuri commanded the ice, commanded _Victor_ , and Victor whistled at the sudden smoldering gaze Yuuri offered. It lanced through him, a spear of fire against the usual chill of the rink. 

At long last, Yuuri had begun to uncover the love Victor left for him. It was passionate and virulent and fiery as Yuuri inhabited it, the power coursing from the ice up into his limbs.

_You feel it, don’t you?_ Victor thought, watching him. This was eros. Finally, this was eros. _Welcome to my love._

Yuuri’s fingers grazed the ice but even that didn’t quell his energy. Victor couldn’t take his eyes away - not then, not as Yuuri executed a perfect quad combination in the last seconds, and not as he struck his final pose: bold and sultry and beautiful and everything Victor had wanted from him. 

There was no question who had won. All of Victor’s fears vanished as he gazed at his future, panting and red-cheeked on the ice. Before him were months in Hasetsu, serving Yuuri as coach, helping him realize his true potential. After that: a long path to the Grand Prix, but one they would walk together.

“Yuuri!” Victor called after Yuuri had bowed and greeted the crowd. He held out his arms, and Yuuri came to him, as easily as if they’d been made for this. Victor folded Yuuri against his chest, whispering: “That was the tastiest katsudon I’ve ever seen.” 

Not that there wasn’t plenty to fix, of course, but for the first time Victor had seen a glimpse of everything Yuuri could be - something he hadn’t seen since that video. 

On the podium, Yuri stuttered into his interview, and Victor found himself holding Yuuri once more.

His hands came to rest on Yuuri’s arms, reassuring. _You have my love. Now you know you can do anything._

“I’m going to try to win the Grand Prix Final with Victor,” Yuuri said, for all the world to hear. 

There was that future, that promise.

And yet it didn't stop the petals.

—

If anything, it made it worse. 

The next several days Yuuri avoided Victor, making excuses not to be around him, and even leaving Victor waiting on the ice during their normally scheduled practice. 

What had Victor done? 

He’d asked about his free skate music. He’d heard from Celestino the same thing everyone else had told him: Yuuri lacked confidence. He didn’t have conviction in his decisions. And, to be fair, the music was mediocre. 

Then Victor remembered: “Think of a girlfriend who loved you.” That was the advice he’d given Yuuri, and Yuuri had stared at him, mouth agape, horrified. Victor couldn’t imagine anyone not loving Yuuri, had only assumed that Yuuri had had that love before. 

But there was nothing. 

“Do you want _me_ to be your lover?” Victor asked on the beach, when he’d finally pulled Yuuri from his shell. Yuuri never talked about what he needed, and so Victor had to guess at what relationship would be best. But Yuuri rejected that notion as well, much to Victor’s dismay. He said he didn’t want Victor to change, but did he still not realize that Victor was already in love with him?

“I’ve always looked up to you,” Yuuri said, while Victor struggled to control the terrible feeling in his throat, the feeling that was becoming familiar. “I ignored you because I didn’t want you to see my shortcomings.”

Yuuri didn’t realize he was perfect, but whatever shortcomings he saw in himself, Victor would help him get rid of those, too. Victor swallowed, touching his throat down to his sternum, willing himself not to cough.

“I won’t go easy on you,” Victor said, standing and taking Yuuri’s hand, because he needed that touch. “That’s my way of showing my love.”

The scratch in his throat settled, if only just, as Yuuri gazed at him, the softest smile just barely visible on his lips.

—

They practiced. 

They practiced until Victor was exhausted, but Yuuri somehow always had energy left. Was Victor really getting older? Losing his ability? Or was it because it always felt a little harder to breathe than it had before? Was it because he would come to the edge of the rink and grab his tissues and always having something to cough up? 

It wasn’t a dream. Victor knew that now, but he didn’t know what it was, or what to do about it. All he knew was that being next to Yuuri made it feel a little bit better.

Everything Yuuri did, he did for Victor: pushing himself harder, farther, to do more. And yet, he wasn’t doing it for Victor. It was for Victor-The-Idea not Victor-Flesh-And-Blood. It was for Victor Nikiforov, five time world champion, and not Victor, hopelessly in love with you. Victor, right here waiting for you. Victor, my heart and soul are yours. 

“On my love,” Yuri declared his theme, and it was a type of love. It was idolization. Infatuation. Fanaticism.

“That’s perfect,” Victor said, because he had to show Yuri the love he meant. Romance. Intimacy. Commitment. Passion. He needed to, because if he didn’t…

—

It continued for weeks before Victor felt faint. They left the rink and Victor’s vision spun. He swooned and sat beneath one of the sakura trees. 

“Victor?!” Yuuri said, catching an arm under him. 

“I’m —“ Victor started, then turned aside as a coughing fit took over. He hacked into his elbow, body shaking with the force of it. 

“Are you OK?” Yuuri said in alarm, patting Victor’s back. 

Victor turned away, not wanting Yuuri to see anything. He could feel the softness passing over his tongue as he choked, and he shook off the petals as quickly as he could. But it wasn’t just petals this time. There was a full, beautiful blossom in the crook of his elbow, not so dissimilar from the cherry blossoms. 

“Oh…” Yuuri said, staring at it. “Did it fall on you? That’s lucky.”

And Victor coughed again, into his palm. 

It wasn’t lucky. It hurt, and it was starting to terrify him.

Victor rose to his feet, brushing his glove over his lips, and set a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, squeezing just a little bit tighter than he should have to steady himself and to ease the ache.

“I’m fine,” Victor said. “Come on. We have to pack for Okayama.”


	4. Cherry Blossoms

If the competition in Hasetsu had turned Yuuri into an entirely different, sexier version of himself, the competition in Okayama turned him into a timorous shell. 

Perhaps Victor’s attempt to dress up and impress him had been misguided, but he hadn’t expected it to backfire quite so spectacularly. Victor was used to the limelight always being about him, and it felt odd to suddenly be only a coach, and not the center of attention. 

Well, not deservedly the center of attention; plenty of the press took his photo anyway. 

But Yuuri choked at the sight of him, and paced, and Victor couldn’t even come up with something decent to say to him before he was on the ice for warm up. 

It was a terrible, tense warm up, and Victor’s throat tightened the entire time. His breathing got short, and if he hadn’t had the wall to lean on he might have fallen again. 

“Yuri, turn around,” Victor said when Yuuri came to the edge.

When he finally did, Victor’s arms fastened around his torso. Selfishly, he needed it, and he held it until it felt like he could breathe again. But easing that terrible itch in his throat was only part of it. The other part…

“Seduce me,” Victor whispered, “with all that you have.”

Technically, it was one of Yuuri’s worst performances of Eros. Still a personal best, but Victor couldn’t help his frustration when Yuuri stepped off the ice. If he was this out of it when there was hardly any pressure, how could he handle the Grand Prix? Victor removed two of Yuuri’s quads for his free skate, trying to force him to take it easy, and that only made Yuuri more upset. 

Victor went to bed tossing, coughing, glad that Yuuri had insisted on his own room so he wouldn’t see the mess Victor made across the pillows.

His mood didn’t improve the next day. To make matters worse, one of the Japanese skaters, Minami, idolized Yuuri, and Yuuri was turning a completely blind eye to it if not actively brushing him off. Victor thought, perhaps, seeing a reflection of himself would finally make Yuuri realize how silly it was to treat Victor like some god, but Yuuri had no such awareness.

Was Yuuri truly so oblivious to the feelings of everyone around him? 

“I’m disappointed in you,” Victor said. Because while Victor could handle the brunt of Yuuri’s dense ignorance, seeing it bestowed on someone younger and more passionate just came off as cruelty. 

Yuuri blanched. Victor worried he hadn’t understood, but before Minami took the ice, Yuuri called out to him in support. That single word of blessing from his idol infused Minami with vibrant energy, so clear as he started his routine. 

_Do I do that to you, Yuuri?_ Victor wondered. 

Victor didn’t realize Yuuri had disappeared until he felt the itch in his throat. It was secondhand now for him to glance around for Yuuri whenever he felt that tension. 

_He must be warming up. Trying to calm down. Good._

When Yuuri did reappear from his warm up, he was far more collected. He revealed his free skate outfit and Victor smiled his approval. 

“Beautiful,” Victor said, and he needed to touch him, did so under the guise of applying balm to his lips. When that wasn’t enough, he brought his arms around Yuuri, too. 

It was always strange, the height difference when Yuuri had on his skates and Victor didn’t, but that didn’t affect how soothing it was to touch him. The heat from Yuuri’s hand on the back of his neck seeped into Victor’s bones, stilling the ache inside, and he didn’t even need the tissues as he stepped to the wall to watch.

Victor spent the entire performance entranced; sometimes gasping, sometimes wincing, watching Yuuri flub his jumps - three quads! - again and again. His hand came up in dismay as Yuuri’s face collided with the wall, and by the end of it —

By the end of it Victor’s palm was against his forehead, disbelieving that Yuuri could have so profoundly disobeyed him. 

But he sighed, and he held out his arms, because Yuuri was his, and the look on Yuuri’s face - so similar to Minami’s when he got that approval - made everything worth it. Victor hugged Yuuri as the score was announced; higher than it should have been for such poor technical execution, but his performance once again made up for it. 

Victor held him. And kept holding him. And nuzzled his cheek in apology and encouragement for future competitions — All this while Yuuri was light-headed and trying to keep his nose from bleeding everywhere after the impact with the wall. 

They returned to Hasetsu with one win under their belt, and Victor sat with Yuuri’s family to watch the men’s singles skaters reveal their themes. 

“Victor is the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold onto,” Yuuri said, and Victor hugged Maccachin to disguise his cough of surprise, the sudden pain in his chest. “I don’t know what the feeling is, but I’ve decided to call it love.”

_It is love,_ Victor frowned, just… not the kind I feel for you…

Out loud, he made an offhand comment about Yuuri’s clothes, flippant and disregarding. By the time Yuuri returned everyone had gone to bed, and Victor only noticed because the ache in his chest lessened, and he was finally able to fall asleep.

—

On the flight to Beijing for the Cup of China, Victor’s discomfort in the tight quarters led to him slumping against Yuuri to fall asleep. It was the best he’d felt since arriving in Hasetsu, and he vowed to find other opportunities to snuggle close to the one he loved. 

Alcohol helped. 

He wasn’t quite as drunk as he pretended to be, but it gave him an excuse to take off his shirt and press his bare skin to Yuuri and drape himself over him. He didn’t cough the entire night; he could almost pretend the plague of petals didn’t exist. 

And at least Phichit got another of his immaculate selfies out of it.

Victor wasn’t expecting the passion Yuuri brought to his short program the next day, nor the perfection. What glimpse he’d seen of an erotic skater in Hasetsu was fully realized in Beijing. By the time Yuuri came off the ice, Victor was elated. He didn’t need an excuse: he wrapped his arms around Yuuri and nestled into his hair and whispered all the praise that he could at the kiss and cry. 

“Eh?” Yuuri suddenly glanced around, confused. He was still stunned from his score - he’d never crested 100 before - but this was something different. 

“What is it?” Victor asked, touching his cheek. 

Yuuri shook his head, smiling as they stood to leave the kiss and cry. “Nothing. It’s silly. I just thought I smelled cherry blossoms…”


	5. Faith & Confidence

The next day, Yuuri came to the rink looking like death, and Victor took the opportunity to strip him down and lay him in bed and snuggle over him. He hadn’t been sleeping well anyways, with the petals, and the exhaustion struck him abruptly. 

Victor sighed and rested his head over Yuuri’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. 

It _was_ soothing, wasn’t it? 

He dreamt of Yuuri’s lips on his, of half-clothed hugs and tender looks, of waking up to Yuuri’s loving gaze. 

But instead there was only a pile of petals, quickly cleaned while Yuuri still had his sleep mask on, and then the men’s free skate. 

Victor had never seen Yuuri panic quite like this before: never for so long, and never so visibly. He was shaking, eyes narrow pinpricks. No matter how far Victor took him from the crowds, it wasn’t far enough. 

Even in the garage, Yuuri heard the distant roar and shuddered. 

“Enough,” Victor said, clapping his hands over Yuuri’s ears. He stared at him, bowing his forehead until they touched, and watched the terror twitch through Yuuri’s eyes. 

He had to do something. 

“If you don’t make the podium,” Victor said. “I’ll take responsibility and resign as your coach.”

He said it to motivate Yuuri, to make him strive for greatness, but instead Yuuri broke into tears. 

Victor gaped. 

When he apologized Yuuri just yelled at him: yelled and cried and shouted at Victor to believe in him. 

_If only you knew_. But Victor didn’t know, either. He frowned, because he was suddenly desperately aware of the fact that he had never done this before. Never coached anyone. Never fallen in love this way. Never coughed petals into his pillow at night, thinking about this gorgeous, shy, fragile Japanese boy. He’d never… he’d never had anyone depend on him like this. 

All Yuuri needed was his faith. His confidence. His love. 

_You have my love_ , Victor promised. _Always, you have my love._

The walk back to the ice was punctuated by several hacking coughs. In the end, it was Yuuri who helped Victor, touching his scalp before he took to the ice, giving Victor that touch he constantly craved. 

Then he gave Victor even more: a stunning performance, calm and centered and — and a quadruple flip?! A jump he’d never done before. _Victor’s jump_. 

Victor’s jaw dropped, and as it ended, Yuuri gazing and pointing towards him, Victor was the one overwhelmed. Victor was the one racing towards the edge of the rink and leaping into Yuuri’s arms. 

And Victor was the one kissing him.

It was sudden, short; the greatest surprise Victor could offer after what Yuuri had done for him. 

They fell, and Victor’s body blanketed Yuuri on the ice. He gazed down at Yuuri’s flush face, his sweat-damp hair, his adoration. It was almost like his dream.

Almost.

Victor turned to the side, his cough short, and a gentle puff of petals fell unseen onto the ice. 

—

He kept hoping they would talk about it. 

He gazed at Yuuri in the kiss and cry, smiled at him when the final standings were confirmed, held him when he came back with his silver medal. 

And Yuuri just… looked happy. He leaned into Victor and weathered Victor’s touchiness and blushed when Victor stared at him for too long, but… that was it. 

He never even mentioned the kiss.

After dinner Victor walked back to Yuuri’s hotel room with him and lingered for a moment outside the door. 

“Well…” Yuuri stuttered. “I should rest.” 

“Yes,” Victor agreed, not moving. 

When Yuuri came towards him, Victor’s heart leapt. But it was only to wrap him in a hug, cheek resting on Victor’s shoulder. “Good night,” Yuuri murmured as he pulled back. With a blush, he disappeared into the room.

“Sweet dreams,” Victor whispered to the door, and then he was covering his mouth, and running to his room, and he barely made it to the toilet before the blossoms erupted from his throat. He spent the night in the bathroom, coughing and vomiting, while the love of his life dreamt sweet dreams. 

—

“Your cough is getting worse,” Yuuri commented on the plane to Sheremetyevo.

“It’s fine,” Victor said, arms coming to rest around Yuuri.

“You should wear a mask.”

“I’m fine.”

— 

Bringing Yuuri home to Russia was bittersweet. The crowds were cheering his name again, but he wanted them to be cheering for Yuuri. Yuuri sensed it too, but instead of resentment it triggered his aggression. Just before Eros, he grabbed Victor by the tie, put his mouth near Victor’s, and whispered the promise of his love. Everyone was watching, all eyes on the pair as the crowds sang: “Victor, Victor, Victor!”. 

Victor felt a lurch in his throat, then swallowed the petals in his mouth, unable to get to his tissues with Yuuri so near. 

He had the taste on his tongue as he watched Yuuri’s eros. Surrounded by a crowd rooting against him, Yuuri shone. Perfect again. Victor kissed his skate, prouder than he’d ever been. This had to be it. This had to help, didn’t it? If Yuuri was able to perform Eros so well, to find that piece of him that was sexual and passionate, didn’t that mean…? 

He’d think about that later. Maybe tonight, he’d go to Yuuri again. Maybe he’d finally get up the courage to kiss him privately, where Yuuri couldn’t laugh it off, couldn’t pretend it was just the heat of the moment. 

Later. Later. 

Victor set an arm around Yuuri, gazing round the rink as they walked from the kiss and cry. 

He’d brought his love home to Russia for his family to see, and his family, filling the stadium, stood on their feet and cheered. 

It was all that Victor wanted, and then it shattered. 

“Victor,” Yuuri called. “You have to go back to Japan right now.”


	6. Distance

Victor hugged Yuuri tight, soaking up the last of that soothing presence, and then boarded a plane back to Fukuoka. 

It started as they were taking off: the quiet coughing, the itch that wouldn’t go away. Victor grabbed one of the bags from the back of the seat and held it open, turned towards the window so no one would see what he was coughing and spitting into it. 

It worsened over the course of the flight. It had been uncomfortable, if not painful, before. But now, as Victor kept coughing, as his throat started to feel raw, and then as little flecks of red joined the petals in the bag, he finally felt afraid. Normally he thought of Yuuri when he was upset or hurting, only now it made the pain even worse. 

He had to do something.

By the time he reached Fukuoka, Victor could barely breathe. His voice was a dry rasp, his eyes were sunken and red-veined from lack of sleep, and the inside of his lips were cherry bright from the rawness of his throat and the blood he’d been bringing up. Yuuri’s family collected him like a stray, and he told them, between coughs, that he was simply sick. A cold or a flu, he said.

It was Hiroko who found him in a side hall of the veterinary clinic, unconscious, surrounded by petals. 

It was Hiroko who knew, immediately, with the briefest glance, what had happened. 

—

Victor woke up to the steady beep of a heart monitor echoing in his ears. He couldn’t feel his throat, and there was something across his face, running just beneath his nose, a soft hiss coming from it. 

The last thing he remembered was seeing Maccachin, alive and tail wagging. He'd gasped with relief, but that gasp turned to coughing, then gagging as he left the room. He remembered vomiting the blossoms in the hall, unable to breathe, and then… nothing. 

The brightness when Victor opened his eyes disoriented him. The glaring white slowly resolved into a sterile hospital room. Hiroko sat beside the bed, reading a book, but looked up as Victor shifted. She had that unique, motherly expression of simultaneous love and sternness. 

“Should have seen a doctor when it started, silly boy,” she said, her tone soft and filled with care and touched with something like sadness.

“Hn?” Victor asked, still just trying to piece together his surroundings. It was a small, barren room, the only window looking out onto a courtyard filled with snow-laden trees. He reached up to his face and traced the thin tube that was wrapped over his ears to an oxygen tank beside the bed. 

Ah. So that’s why he could breathe again.

Hiroko pointed to the x-rays hung on the lightbox beside the bed. As Victor focused on them he recognized the striped pattern of a ribcage, and inside of it a bright knot with dazzling, lightning-like roots in the shape of lungs. 

“I didn’t…” Victor murmured. Didn't know? Didn't want to know? Thought I was going insane?

He touched his chest, frowning, and stared up at the x-ray again. …What was it? Cancer?

“…How long have you been in love with my son?” Hiroko asked. 

Victor blushed and coughed. Several petals came out of his mouth, and he realized there were dozens around his head. Was that why Hiroko didn’t look surprised at the sudden, unbelievable blossoms? And what did love have to do with anything? But even as he thought that, he felt a twinge of familiarity and recognition. He knew.

“The doctor says the roots go deep,” she continued. “It must have started before you even came here.”

 _Almost a year ago_ , Victor thought. He coughed into his hand as he sat up. Hiroko took his hand, opened it, and picked one of the petals to hold to the light. She sighed.

“We thought he loved you, too.”

“W-what?” Victor blushed. 

Hiroko managed to smile and look skeptical at the same time, like ‘of course, dear, did you think you were being discreet?’ 

“Yuuri was always very different from the other boys,” Hiroko said. “We just wanted him to be happy, no matter how it happened. We’ve never seen him so happy as he is when he’s with y—”

The doctor came into the room: “Ah, Mr. Nikiforov, you’re awake. How do you feel?”

Victor blinked away from Hiroko and turned his attention to the doctor.

“What’s happening?” he asked. “I can’t feel my throat.”

“Yes. We coated it in a numbing analgesic to reduce the coughing. Is the oxygen helping?” He gestured to the tank.

Victor touched the tube again, following its path across his cheek to the two openings feeding up towards his nostrils. He frowned at the doctor. 

“I can breathe,” he said. His lungs still felt… full. But he no longer felt like he was in a room with no air.

“We’ll need to perform surgery immediately to remove the growth,” the doctor said. “It’s amazing you’ve lasted this long before an attack, given how deep the roots go.”

_I always had Yuuri to—_

“Yuuri!” Victor gasped, and petals came out with the words. He grabbed for the sides of the bed, pulling himself upright. “What time -!” He couldn't make it through the sentence without hacking.

The doctor was there in an instant, a hand resting gentle but firm on Victor’s chest to prevent him from trying to move any more. 

“Please be careful,” the doctor said. “You’re very weak right now. You could injure yourself.”

“Please,” Victor begged, looking to Hiroko, but she was already reaching for his hand, patting it.

“He made it,” Hiroko said. “It’s over. He called to tell you, but we said you were with Maccachin.”

It was over already? Victor had missed Yuuri’s performance?

“Are you alright, Mr. Nikiforov?” Because Victor was wheezing again, and the doctor adjusted the flow of oxygen. 

“He doesn’t know,” Hiroko said to the doctor. 

“Oh,” the doctor frowned. He pulled up a stool beside the bed and took a seat, hands folding over the clipboard of Victor’s condition. “Mr. Nikiforov, you’ve contracted Hanahaki Disease. It’s very rare for a foreigner to acquire; quite miraculous, actually. It’s a native botanical parasite that infects those whose love is unrequited.”

Unrequited? 

Victor felt his heart sinking. 

“No…” he mumbled. Yuuri loved him. Yuuri _loved_ him, it just…

A tear traced down Victor’s cheek until it met the oxygen tube. 

…It just wasn't the same.

“We’ve scheduled an operation for this evening. We’ll remove the roots and you’ll feel much better. People say when the emotions disappear it's like flying.”

It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. “What?”

“They say the lightness is like flying,” the doctor said.

“No — the emotions?” 

“Ah. Yes. Removing the growth also removes the love,” the doctor explained.

Victor was already shaking his head. 

“I can’t. You can’t. He needs me. He needs my love. He —“

“Mr. Nikiforov, I’m not sure you understand. Left untreated, Hanahaki Disease is terminal.”

Victor stared, and the doctor, confusing his determination for a lack of comprehension, repeated:

“If we don’t remove the growth, you _will_ die,” the doctor said, gently. “You don’t have long.”

The silence in the wake of that statement was thunderous, matching the tears that rained down Victor’s cheeks. 

“Just a few weeks,” Victor whispered finally. “I just need a few weeks.”

“At this rate, you might have two before it becomes inoperable,” the doctor said. 

And the Grand Prix was in three.


	7. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) That thing I'm doing is coming up, so updates may be slow after this :\ I apologize in advance. But March will be better!
> 
> 2) Y'all are the greatest.

Victor sat in the airport waiting area, a hand over his chest, all his attention turned inward to the slow release of pressure in his ribcage. 

Yuuri was getting closer. 

Victor stood as Maccachin ran towards the glass partition, and something about seeing Yuuri made Victor’s heart stumble over itself. He’d never felt such a powerful combination of love and relief and desperation, and it showed in the almost pained expression on his face. 

_I need you_.

They both ran. 

It took years for the security doors to open. Victor stared, and tensed, and when the glass finally parted Yuuri leapt into Victor’s outstretched arms. 

Victor _breathed_. The roots in his lungs seemed to loosen and the petals thinned, letting air pass through at last. The itching feeling near his sternum and throat disappeared, replaced by Yuuri’s presence.

“Yuuri I —“ Victor started, overwhelmed by the familiar scent of Yuuri, the familiar weight of his body, the familiar warmth spreading out from his chest. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I can do as your coach.” 

“So have I,” Yuuri whispered. Then, with his indomitable insistence: “I want you to be my coach until I retire.”

Victor’s breath caught in his throat and he had to bring his hand up to hide the petals from his cough. He cast them away behind Yuuri, out of sight, and then pulled back to take Yuuri’s hand. 

“That’s almost like a proposal,” Victor said, kissing Yuuri’s knuckles where he would have put a ring. Yuuri blushed.

_Perhaps that’s as close as you can get to a proposal_ , he ached. 

The thought made his chest tighten up, and so he pulled Yuuri in for a hug once more, cheeks resting together, and whispered: “I wish you’d never retire.”

_I wish I could be with you forever._

And then, as something settled in his soul:

_I_ will _be with you forever_.

— 

He didn’t realize until days later that he’d already made his decision. He walked beside Yuuri to the rink, an arm around him, fingers absently rubbing the knob of his shoulder.

“This is a beautiful place, isn’t it?” Victor asked as they came close to the rink’s entrance. He sat down beside the cherry blossom where he’d collapsed before, snow covered and stagnant for the winter. They were high enough to get a view of Hasetsu, far enough out to see up the mountain to the castle, and the breeze came in off the ocean adding a freshness to the crisp, cool air. Victor sat at the edge of the tree bed, the chill of the stone seeping through his coat, but it didn’t matter. 

Yuuri paused, still holding his skate bag, and looked at Victor oddly. 

“Is something wrong?” Yuuri asked. “Are you still sick?”

Victor gave a soft puff of laughter against the back of his hand. 

“Yes,” he said. “But that doesn’t make it less beautiful, does it?” 

He gazed at Yuuri until Yuuri blushed, then pat the place beside him. 

“I like it here,” Victor said as Yuuri cautiously, confusedly took a seat. “Close to where you skate. Able to see Yu-topia.” He laid back on the snow covered bed, staring up at the overcast sky, wondering what it would be like to be at peace here. To die here. 

“Victor, what are you doing?” Yuuri frowned. 

Victor found he couldn’t respond, choked by a sudden upheaval of emotion, and then Yuuri’s voice became more urgent:

“Victor… are you crying?” 

Victor turned away from Yuuri, unable to keep his shoulders from trembling. 

“Victor! What’s wrong?” And Yuuri was wrapping his arms around him, pulling him upright while tears poured down Victor’s cheeks. 

“Yuuri, I —“ 

_I love you._

_I_ love _you_.

But nothing came out. 

—

He remembered wanting to kiss Yuuri, to tell him everything, to come clean, but as the days continued to melt into one another, hours and hours of practice for the Grand Prix, the notion seemed less and less possible. How could he do that to Yuuri, put all of this on his shoulders, so close to the most important two days of his life?

Two weeks came, and Victor spent it at the rink, watching Yuuri flip and lutz and salchow and dance his step sequence across the ice. Victor still put his blades on, still glided beside Yuuri from time to time, but he’d stopped demonstrating the jumps. Stopped doing anything that took more than basic energy.

And then practice was over, and they ate dinner side by side, and Victor touched Yuuri’s hair after they’d finished and told him to go to bed. Everyone else knew. Everyone else watched in silence. 

“Good night, Victor,” Yuuri smiled.

“Good night,” Victor whispered. 

The night waxed, and one by one Yuuri’s sister and father trickled away too, until it was just Hiroko across from him.

“This kind of sacrifice… he won’t forgive you,” Hiroko said. 

“He loves me,” Victor whispered. “And he needs my love. At least until the Grand Prix. He never has to know.”

Hiroko shook her head, taking his hands. 

“You don’t need that love to support him,” she said. “You don’t need that love to teach him. You just need to be here and believe in him.”

But Victor closed his eyes, shaking his head. He pulled the clear tubing from the tiny backpack the doctor had given him, fitting it over his ears and letting it rest under his nose so he could breathe while the petals started to rise. He was so used to the feeling now he just clenched his abdomen, forcing them up his throat, and turned away from Hiroko to hide the grotesqueness of this particular form of purging. He’d taken to keeping small bags in the backpack, and when this one was full he simply tied it off and set it aside.

“Please, call,” she begged. 

But Victor just stared at the phone, both of them watching the seconds trickle by, until the two week mark ticked past, and the date turned over to tomorrow. 

—

Victor woke up with another missed call from the doctor’s office. 

He ignored it. 

At the rink, he hid his oxygen from Yuuri, taking breaks to go to the bathroom and sit with the tube under his nose. He kept the bag for the petals nearby, and spent most of his time near the wall so he could lean on it as needed as he grew light-headed between breaks. 

“Victor, have you seen a doctor?” Yuuri asked, skating up to the wall just as Victor’s lashes fluttered with vertigo. He blinked back to the present, focusing on Yuuri. “You should see a doctor. You don’t… look so good.” 

“I’m fine,” Victor said. “Go again.” 

Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck, fidgeting as he looked at Victor, but finally acquiesced and skated back out to the center of the rink.

—

Their flight to Barcelona was a red eye.

Victor woke up in the middle of the night, flew to the bathroom, and doubled over the toilet, gushing petals, blossoms. As he straightened up he scratched at his sternum and froze in horror as his nails met something hard. 

He lifted his shirt up over his head and looked in the foggy, ruddy airplane mirror. It was so small, but the contrast of bright green against his pale skin was undeniable.

Victor’s fingers shook as he touched the tiny, two-leaf bud rising out of his skin. 

He wanted to scream in horror, but he couldn’t do anything but stare, almost petrified, as his fingers pinched the bud and pulled. He felt the root stir inside of him, felt the most vile, slithering sensation as he pulled out a long, thin white strand tinged with blood. A red dot swelled up in the wake of the tap root and Victor, nauseated, dropped the bud and its pinkish tendril into the toilet. 

He vomited again, bile and dinner mixed with the petals, too disgusted to move.

He felt across his chest, finding a few other hard nubs, but they were still beneath his skin, unsurfaced. 

When he returned to his seat he wrapped his arms around Yuuri, fast asleep through all of it, and cried his fears into Yuuri’s shoulder.

Five days. He just needed five more days.

_Please, God, just five more days._


	8. Baka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Ugh I lied. "Can't stop won't stop" apparently. If I butcher this presentation I have no one to blame but myself. And Victor. 
> 
> 2) BIRTHDAY POST BAM!

“Victor; we should share a room this time,” Yuuri said as they checked in at the hotel.

Victor gave Yuuri an odd look, not without hope. Yuuri blushed.

“What if you need someone to look after you,” he stuttered. “You know you’re still coughing all the time.”

“Yuuri,” Victor sighed, but he was smiling, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “You should be focusing on your skating; let me worry about my cough.”

And then he realized: how was he supposed to hide it from Yuuri if they shared a room?

But the arrangement was already made, and Yuuri was smiling about it, and so Victor simply walked beside him to the room to drop off their things before practice. He would figure that out later.

— 

Practice wasn’t kind to Victor, and more than once the other skaters commented on his appearance. Why did he look so pale? Had he lost weight? Why wasn’t he on the ice? By the end of it he was exhausted, but Yuuri came up and begged him to go sightseeing and looked at him with eyes Victor couldn’t ever deny. 

“OK, Yuuri. Just let me go to the bathroom first,” Victor said, and he picked up his backpack and disappeared.

— 

“We should go back to the hotel,” Victor murmured, many hours later. “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

Victor was tired. Victor was exhausted. 

Victor had been sneaking oxygen for the last several hours while Yuuri shopped, and now he could hardly stand to be more than a few feet away from him and he was still feeling dizzy. 

But Yuuri was bound and determined. Victor was used to that expression, knew it meant there’d be no dissuading him until he found what it was he was looking for. Instead he followed in Yuuri’s wake, just slightly behind him, watching his eyes scan the Christmas market. 

When Yuuri came to a dead stop and made a strangled noise, Victor’s first thought was that he’d hurt himself, but the next moment Yuuri was hurrying into a jewelry store, Victor trailing in his wake, trying to stay close. 

As Yuuri picked out his purchase, Victor just stood there in shock, frozen. 

_What is he doing_ , Victor trembled. 

Those were wedding bands. Golden rings in Yuuri and Victor’s sizes. 

Victor couldn’t breathe.

Was Yuuri going to propose? An _actual_ proposal? Did Yuuri want to _marry him_?

This was a dream, it had to be a dream, it was the greatest dream Victor had ever had.

His fingers trembled as Yuuri walked beside him, holding his gloved hand and the ring box in the other. Victor didn’t say a word - couldn’t. Yuuri led him past the carolers and up the cathedral stairs until they were beneath the church’s eaves, the saints and angels of the Sagrada Familia gazing down at them. Without pause or preamble, Yuuri lifted Victor’s hand and tenderly pulled the glove off of it. 

The ring was cool as Yuuri slid it onto his finger, pushing it over his knuckle and tucking it safely at the base of the digit. He was speaking but Victor couldn’t hear much of anything over the pounding in his head, the rush of the blood, the disbelief. 

This _had_ to be love. He was saved. 

But then he focused on what Yuuri was saying. 

They were just good luck charms, Yuuri insisted, and to thank him for everything he’d done. Even as he gave Victor the other ring, even as Victor took Yuuri’s hand and slowly slid it on, there was no mention of love. Victor could feel the petals rising in his throat but he willed them down.

“Tell me something for good luck,” Yuuri said, and so, as the ring settled on Yuuri’s finger, Victor brought it to his lips and murmured:

“OK. I’ll tell you something you won’t even have to think about. Tomorrow, show your love on the ice, however it feels best,” Victor whispered, having to fight the sensation in his throat with every syllable. His lips brushed over Yuuri’s knuckles, the same as they had at Fukuoka - before there had been a golden band there. 

But then he hesitated, and his hand moved from Yuuri’s knuckles to Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri was already blushing, but as Victor leaned forward he had just enough time to gasp before Victor’s lips were covering his. This time it wasn’t quick; it was gentle and slow and sweet and Yuuri didn’t pull away. 

He didn’t pull back. 

If anything, he sank into the kiss, still stiff and awkward but -

The cough happened before Victor could stop it. Petals pulsed past his lips and against Yuuri’s, catching on the dampness of his mouth. 

Victor pulled back, turning away so that he could continue coughing without Yuuri seeing, but it was too late. 

Yuuri stood there, holding one of the petals that had landed on his lip.

“Victor you…” he started.

Another round of coughing, terribly now, and Victor moved to a corner of the church to limit the visibility of what was coming up. He didn’t stop until he felt Yuuri’s hand on his back, then at his waist, hugging him gently from behind. That heat settled the growth in his lungs, keeping it at bay long enough that Victor could twist around to look at Yuuri’s face. 

What he saw was devastation.

“Yuuri I — I’m fine, it’s nothing it —”

“Stop saying that! You’re not okay!” Yuuri yelled. Then, as someone nearby turned to stare at him, he flinched and softened his voice. “… You’ve had hanahaki?” 

How had everyone known about this but him?

“All this time?” Yuuri frowned. 

Victor coughed again, and this time he just used the back of his hand, no longer trying to hide the petals that came out. 

Yuuri looked so upset, heartbroken almost, as a sudden comprehension struck him. 

“… who is she?” Yuuri whispered.

Victor stared. 

“ _Baka_ ,” he cursed, tears sprouting at the corners of his eyes and falling down. He grabbed Yuuri’s shoulders, shook him, and then turned away again to cough. 

“… Did you come to train me to get away from your love?” Yuuri murmured as he touched Victor’s back. 

Victor grabbed Yuuri’s hand, used it to pull him close and then push him against the cathedral’s stone. 

“I came here for my love,” Victor rasped. “I came here because there was nothing in my life except for that love and I would do anything, _anything_ for that love. I would pay any price.” He swallowed down another mouthful of petals. They were just there now, all the time, whether he coughed or not. “Because this love, my love, is the kind that moves mountains, that makes history, that means more than life itself.” 

He put his lips close to Yuuri’s, foreheads touching, noses side by side. Praying Yuuri understood.

“I’m sorry, Victor,” Yuuri whispered, jealousy tinging his words. “I can’t imagine anyone not loving you.”

Victor’s tears swelled up at those words and he choked as he pulled Yuuri to his chest for a hug. 

_You fool, you hopeless fool_ , Victor cursed, and he wasn’t sure which of them he was thinking about.

“Why haven’t you gotten surgery?” Yuuri asked, holding Victor in return.

“I will,” Victor said, fresh tears still streaming. “After the final.” He brushed the streaks on his cheeks, pulled himself together. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

“You should have gotten it earlier,” Yuuri said, and somehow they were leaning on each other, walking away from the cathedral. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Yuuri,” Victor said, his voice flat. “I’m glad you care about me.”

One last time, Victor took Yuuri’s hand, pulling the ring up to his lips and kissing it. _Because I love you_.

“Just a few more days, then, and you’ll be okay,” Yuuri smiled, squeezing Victor’s hand. “You won’t have to think about her anymore.”

Victor gazed at Yuuri, puffed a hopeless laugh, and Yuuri swiped at the petals.

“That’s right,” Victor sighed. “Just a few more days, Yuuri.”


	9. Misplaced Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... I'm the worst. We're so close.

Victor was not alone in the assumption he’d made. It was Phichit who saw the two gold rings and stood to announce their marriage. Victor didn’t have the heart to correct him, even though Yuuri was quick to shake his head and flail his arms and deny it. Victor had still been reeling from the fact that Yuuri didn’t even remember the day he fell in love with him - the night he woke up with a petal on his pillow.

If he knew, would things have been different?

Victor sat on the edge of the hotel bed, staring into space, until Yuuri came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Victor thought to look busy, to not be so ill at ease around Yuuri. He pulled out the little tank and the clear tubing from his backpack, avoiding Yuuri as he twisted the valve and looped the plastic over his ears, tucking the openings at his nostrils. 

“Victor… is that - “ Yuuri saw and came to the bed, frowning. 

“It just… helps me breathe better,” Victor said. 

Yuuri’s face filled with anxiety as he crept close, and so Victor twisted, pulling Yuuri into his lap despite Yuuri’s flinch. Victor set his cheek against Yuuri’s shoulder, sighing. 

“Touching you helps, too.”

“M-me?” Yuuri asked. 

“Mhm,” Victor said, eyes closing. God, did it help. His fingers traced lightly along Yuuri’s forearm, brushing along his soft skin. When Yuuri was this close, when he had the extra oxygen, he could almost pretend everything was OK. 

Victor touched all the way down to Yuuri’s hand, and the ring there. 

“Everyone thinks we’re engaged now, you know,” Victor said. 

Yuuri blushed, stiff in Victor’s arms. “I’m sorry.”

Victor let out a whuff of petals.

“I love it,” he said. _I love you._

Yuuri’s blush deepened. He glanced at Victor before his eyes followed the plastic tubing. 

“… What was she like?” 

“You mean my love?” Victor asked. 

Yuuri brushed a petal off of Victor’s lips, and the contact nearly ruined what little composure Victor had left. Yuuri nodded.

“Do you really not remember the night of the banquet?” 

“Was she there?”

“My love was there,” Victor said. “That’s the night it all started.”

“… Mila?” Yuuri asked. 

“No.”

“…Vivian?”

“…No.”

Victor sighed, hooking his chin over Yuuri’s shoulder and rubbing his thumb back and forth across Yuuri’s wedding ring - _lucky charm_ \- like a worry stone. When Yuuri shifted to get more comfortable, he bumped something hard on Victor’s chest. “What…?” and he unbuttoned the first two buttons of Victor’s shirt. 

Victor kept his eyes on Yuuri’s face, watching his expression turn to shock as he pushed back the material and revealed the green growth there. Victor had been able to pull a few of the sprouts out that morning, but one didn’t budge, and when he’d tugged too hard it felt like he was jostling his innards. He’d clipped off the bud instead, but from the look on Yuuri’s face it had regrown with a vengeance… and likely had neighbors. 

“Victor this —”

Yuuri swallowed, unbuttoning the rest of Victor’s shirt and pushing it off his shoulders to see the extent. Victor didn’t look, but he felt Yuuri’s fingers as they brushed the delicate seedlings. It almost tickled, but Yuuri’s touch that close to his heart was so soothing Victor hardly noticed. 

“This is really bad,” Yuuri murmured. 

Victor nodded faintly. He’d run out of energy to care. It felt so good to have Yuuri close to him, to have their skin pressed together. It felt like Hasetsu after a bath, when they’d horsed around and Victor had found excuses to touch and hug and stretch out Yuuri’s body. 

Victor brought his hand up to his chest, finding some of the smaller buds and pulling them out of his skin. Yuuri made a choking noise and turned away, unable to watch. It still horrified Victor, too, but he moved almost automatically, farther and farther away from reality.

There were four, now, that Victor couldn’t remove, and the one he’d clipped off was as thick as a pencil, covered in soft new bark, and the two initial leaves were flanked by formal sakura ones.

“How are they going to remove this?” Yuuri asked. 

_You have two weeks until it’s inoperable_ , the doctor had said, three weeks ago. 

“They will.”

Victor felt tears pricking at his eyes again, a few terrifying thoughts of death forcing their way through his glazed, protective numbness. 

“You should go to sleep,” he said, because he didn’t want Yuuri to see him cry anymore. 

Yuuri seemed to remember, suddenly, that he was just in his towel. He blanched and was about to rise but hesitated, sizing Victor up: the specks of blood on his chest, the buds threatening to blossom, the oxygen tube.

“You said it feels better when you touch me?” Yuuri mumbled. “Do you want me to… I could sleep here.” 

“Okay,” Victor said, because he was tired. He was so incredibly tired, and he couldn’t — he _couldn’t_ bear it anymore. Two more days. 

He laid down, turning off his bedside lamp, and Yuuri came up behind him, laying an arm around Victor’s waist and scooting until his chest was flush to Victor’s back. He didn’t say anything, but Victor could feel the stiffness in his posture. He didn’t care. Yuuri was holding him, and drawing the sheet up around them, and Victor could breathe. 

“…Sala?” Yuuri asked into the darkness. 

“Yuuri.”


	10. Silent Goodbyes

Victor woke up twice, suffocating on blossoms and leaves lodged in his throat, but both times managed not to wake Yuuri as he heaved over the side of the bed into the waste bin.

Yuuri stayed dutifully next to him throughout the night, even sleepily grappled for Victor when he moved too far away. Asleep, Victor could gaze at him and imagine they were wed, imagine this was how he would wake up every day, beside his husband. He let himself linger in that fantasy, indulging hopelessly on what couldn’t be. 

When had he given up on Yuuri returning his love? 

When had he known it was hopeless?

That night he slept better than he had in weeks, and he didn’t feel dizzy at all as they headed to the rink. He’d woken up to find more seedlings on his chest, and the previous buds stronger, and some even blossoming. Even walking next to Yuuri, he felt a tension in his chest, like his lungs didn’t have enough room. But Yuuri’s touch let him live.

With the lowest qualifying score, Yuuri would perform first - something he usually detested. Yet that didn’t dampen Yuuri’s spirits the way it normally did. Victor watched him warm up, watched him twist his hips and stretch his quads and zone out as he prepared. When Yuuri was on the ice, about to go out, Victor clasped his hand and kissed the golden ring there. 

Yuuri’s normal jitters were gone, replaced by a cool confidence.

“I’m off,” Yuuri said, fingers twined together with Victor’s, and then he sailed to the center of the ice.

Victor felt the distance in his chest as Yuuri moved away and had to support himself on the wall, bringing his own ring to his lips. Yuuri mirrored the gesture, and the performance began. 

Eros. 

Victor coughed into his hand, remembering the night he’d first choreographed the routine. He’d been imagining Yuuri at the banquet. Yuuri, moving like music. Yuuri, strong and powerful and dancing with unbridled confidence, complete fearlessness. 

Now, at long last, Yuuri finally moved like he remembered.

Victor’s heart pounded in his chest, throbbing against his ribs and the roots and pulsing in time to Yuuri’s beauty. It felt like he might burst at any moment, following Yuuri across the ice with his eyes: jump after jump after jump. 

It ended with only one imperfection: a glance of his hand against the ice, but Yuuri didn’t even break a hundred. 

Victor should have been staying close to Yuuri, gathering what comfort he could from the proximity, but instead found himself drawn to the ice while Yuuri began his interviews. He walked slowly to the stands, leaning on the rail and gazing out across the rink.

 _My last time on the ice has already come and gone_ , Victor realized. _And I didn’t even know._ Perhaps it was better that way. Better not to have the bittersweet goodbye. Better not to know. 

_I will never compete again_.

As Yuri flew, perfect in a way Victor had only dreamed of when making the choreography, he let himself finally embrace that melancholy. Victor’s time as Russia’s hero was over, and now he got to see his replacement in all his glory. Yuri already had more fans than Victor did at his age. Had more raw talent. The same drive. Yuri would surpass him, Victor knew.

He just wasn’t expecting it in the next two minutes.

 _Breaking Victor Nikiforov’s long time world record_ — Victor gazed up at the scoreboard, staring at the numbers next to Yuri’s name. 

_As if I’m already dead…_

He thought he’d be more upset.

Instead he twisted around as he felt the comfort of Yuuri’s closeness; he found him on the stairs, looking guilty.

They sat together in the stands, watching Chris take the ice. A string of memories struck Victor, unbidden: meeting Chris for the first time, watching him suffer through his lanky, awkward transition from a small blond boy to a tall muscular man, skating to the podium with him again and again. Victor’s lips curled into a soft smile as he remembered a thousand little flirtations and friendly jibes and the shared passion of living for the ice. 

Chris was, perhaps, the closest friend Victor had beyond his Russian rink mates. 

“Allez,” Victor whispered beneath his breath, ignoring the feel of petals on his tongue. How many times had he called that out, over the ice? And of all those times, this would be his last: “Allez, Chris.”

Otabek’s performance proved that there was always room to grow - always new routes and new paths and new stretches for the sport to expand. It filled Victor with hope for the future, and sadness he wouldn’t get to see it.

And then JJ…

JJ’s breakdown put Yuuri in 4th at the end of the day.

Victor expected Yuuri to panic, but they ate, they returned to the hotel room, and Yuuri just seemed… focused. Determined in a way that Victor had never seen him before. 

Yuuri started to say something to Victor, only to realize that Victor was stripping down for a shower. The sakura had continued to grow - one vine of it twined around Victor’s collar bone, dipping in and out of his skin, while the main stalk above his lungs was lined in little flowers. It would have been beautiful, if it wasn’t killing him. 

When Victor returned, wrapped in a robe and toweling his hair, he prompted Yuuri to continue.

“You were saying?” Victor asked. He watched a spike of tension move through Yuuri.

“After the final,” Yuuri said, “Let’s end this.”

“Huh?” Victor couldn’t help the dumbfounded utterance, or the petals that came with it.

“You’ve done more than enough for me, Victor,” Yuuri murmured. 

_I gave my life for you_.

“Thanks to you, I was able to give everything I had to my last season.” He bowed. “Thank you for everything, Victor. Coach.”

 _Coach_.

Petals fell from the blossoms on Victor’s chest, from Victor’s slightly parted lips, and joined his tears cascading to the floor. 

“Victor?” Yuuri frowned. He touched Victor’s hair, as if to check to see that Victor was actually crying, and Victor just blinked more tears to the floor and his chest clenched, sending blossoms past his lips in studdering waves.

“I’m retiring,” Yuuri said, and the tears surged. “You should be free to go back to Russia and make your comeback. … You won’t have the emotions to run from anymore. You don’t need me anymore.”

Victor couldn’t breathe. 

He didn’t realize it, at first. The way the tension in his stomach wouldn’t stop. The way he just kept on heaving. He tried to cough and found his lungs weren’t pressing out air the way they should have. Victor’s eyes widened and he grabbed at his throat. 

“Victor?” Yuuri whimpered. 

Victor was on his feet, looking around frantically. He needed to _breathe_! He ran to the bathroom, bowing over the toilet and trying to vomit. He put his fingers into the mess of petals in his mouth, tried to push on his palate, the back of his throat. His whole body was convulsing but it wasn’t coming _out_!

His fingers hit something hard. 

Yuuri was behind him, grabbing him, panicking. Victor’s lungs burned and his vision swam. He scraped at the hardness in the back of his throat, then grabbed it between two fingers and pulled. And pulled.

The vine was almost twenty centimeters long, covered in buds and blossoms, and when Victor finally withdrew it and dropped it into the toilet bowl he gagged on the air, sobbing breath after breath as his lungs rejoiced at the brief respite. Yuuri held the oxygen tube to his nose and Victor breathed. Just breathed.

He stared at the vine, shivering, even as Yuuri wrapped his arms around him.

“I’m not going… anywhere without you…” Victor whispered.

_For the rest of my life, I need you._


	11. Yuuri On Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all disappeared last chapter. What happened?
> 
> Also, sigh, here we are at the end. Please be mindful of the tags if you haven't seen the updated one :<

Victor woke up.

He thanked God just for that. 

Yuuri’s arm was around his waist, Yuuri’s heat at his back, and both of them were bathed in blossoms. A halo of the faint pink speckles surrounded them, softened the sheets beneath them, and dusted them both like snow. Across Victor’s pillow was a splash of vibrant red: blood seeped into the pillowcase and decorated with scarlet sakura.

Victor ignored it, ignored the taste of it in his mouth, and stayed still, savoring the feel of Yuuri against him. 

Could he pause time altogether, if he wished for it hard enough? 

But seconds passed, and collected into minutes, and inevitably Yuuri’s arm twitched and he stirred. Victor turned the pillow over as Yuuri sat up, scrubbing a hand down his face. He yawned hugely and looked down at Victor. 

They hadn’t spoken since the incident, just curled up in bed in silence.

Yuuri’s eyes moved to Victor’s chest, where the roots were surfacing now, the pattern of his ribs almost clear in the striated absence of bark and leaf and blossom. 

Yuuri frowned, opened his mouth, closed it, and went to shower. 

— 

Victor kept his oxygen on until the last moment, when they were approaching the rink. The cameras flashed and rolled but Victor’s vitality was gone, and even Yuuri was far subdued. Inside, Victor disappeared to the bathroom, the rise of blossoms near constant now. He knelt in the stall, coughing quietly, heaving when he could, and listened to the noise of the locker room. 

Yuri was scoffing, “At least when you choke we won’t have to listen to you beg at the banquet again.”

“What?” Yuuri asked, voice contorted as he pulled on his costume.

“It was embarrassing,” Yuri growled, and then he mimicked: “Be my coach, Victor! Be my coach!”

“Mm,” Chris agreed. “I never thought Victor would find something he loved more than the ice. Though I admit I don’t know what he sees in you.”

“It’s not me,” Yuuri deflected, but the thought lingered. 

Chris and Yuri just snorted.

— 

Victor trembled near Yuuri in the hall beneath the stands. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure he could anymore. His vision swam, focused for a few moments before going distant and hazy, and the mineral taste of blood filled his mouth and had to be swallowed down. The oxygen tube was threaded down his sleeve and he held it beneath his nose for a moment, disguising it as a longer than average cough. But the oxygen wasn’t helping any more. 

One last chance to cough petals - dark red now - into a bag, tie it off, and toss it into the bin before they walked out to the ice.

As Yuuri skated to the wall where Victor stood, his eyes darted to the stands and the skaters there, scanning.

“… looking for my love?” Victor asked, and Yuuri blushed, because he had been. Because it couldn’t be.

Yuuri’s hand fell over Victor’s, lifting it and touching the gold band before lacing their fingers together. Victor brushed his thumb along the edge of Yuuri’s palm, memorizing the feel.

“Yuuri, listen to me. I wasn’t sure I should tell you this, but…” Victor knew the cameras were watching, knew they’d see when he brushed the petal off his lip. “I took a break after becoming the five time world champion to coach you. I gave up everything for you. For _you_ , Yuuri …So how is it possible that you still haven’t won a single gold medal?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened.

“How much longer are you going to stay in warm up mode?” Victor pressed, and then he forced himself to smile, because no matter how much it winded him to say that many words, no matter how badly his chest hurt, no matter how difficult it was just to stay upright, Yuuri was his love. Would always be his love. 

Yuuri embraced him over the wall, crying, and Victor felt his own tears welling up; tears and blood and blossoms. 

_Just a little longer. Just a little longer._

“My love, Yuuri,” Victor whispered, taking his hand, “is right here. On the ice.” 

Yuuri squeezed Victor’s hand, held it for a timeless moment, and Victor gasped, softly, finally, as he pulled away.

—

_My name is Katsuki Yuuri._

Yuuri stood in the center of the ice, Victor’s words repeating in his head. In skating, everything on the ice was love, but Victor meant more than that. Yuuri took his starting position, hands resting before him, eyes downcast. He saw the tips of skates, the slick wet surface beneath his blades, and there, on the ice, reflected back at him…

_… it’s me._

The music began and Yuuri lifted his arms, tears shining in his eyes.

— _It all started at the banquet_  
— _I love katsudon_  
— _That’s almost like a proposal_  
— _Touching you helps, too_  
— _My love is the kind that’s worth dying for_

Yuuri gasped with comprehension, shone with the sudden understanding of love so great, so selfless, so constant, that he’d never imagined it might be real, much less that it would be for him. And in denying himself Victor’s love he had denied Victor his own. The flowers, the vine - it was for _him_.

No more. No more.

The music called to Yuuri - the music about his life, and his love, and all of the hidden potential Yuuri had been waiting to unleash. He pushed off the ice, gliding into his routine: ready, finally, to show the world their love.

_My name is Katsuki Yuuri. A dime-a-dozen Japanese figure skater, and the love of Victor Nikiforov._

——

The edges of Victor’s vision darkened, but he could still see Yuuri’s revelation. He could feel it in his chest, where his lungs had been perforated and there was too much blood to breathe. He could feel it in his heart, where the roots strangled the muscle too tightly to continue beating. 

He could see it on the ice, where Yuuri skated with all of his heart, with all of his soul, with all of his love. 

Toe loop. Salchow. _Another_ toe loop.

 _See what you can do with my love, Yuuri?_

Victor couldn’t feel the wall beneath his hands, the floor beneath his feet. But he didn’t need to. All he needed was on the ice.

_That love is yours now. It’s yours forever._

Victor’s world narrowed, his body teetered, every second a fight to stay aware. 

_Just a few more moments…_

Time froze as Yuuri launched into his quadruple flip. 

Victor’s heart stopped.

Yuuri landed it, perfectly, and Victor made a noise like a sigh.

He smiled. 

He let go.

Whatever happened, a part of him would always live on.

— 

Yuuri came to the end of his routine, his magnum opus, his ode to everything Victor had offered him. He extended his fingers towards Victor, expecting to see his face, expecting to see his smile, expecting to see him healed. 

But there was nothing, only a swirl of sakura blossoms and the running feet of those who’d seen him fall.

Yuuri was moving before he knew what was happening. He raced off of the ice, stumbling, ignoring his guards, and collapsed to his knees beside Victor. 

“Victor,” Yuuri whimpered. “No no no no no.”

“VICTOR!” he screamed. 

Victor’s head was canted at an awkward angle, blood and petals leaking in slow pulses from his mouth, eyes closed. 

“ _NO_!” Yuuri screamed again, and he grabbed Victor, surrounding him in his arms, lifting his torso into his lap. He touched Victor. He brushed his hair back, he found his hand, and the ring, and he squeezed desperately. Feel better. Feel better. Feel better. “VICTOR!” 

He shook him, screaming his name, screaming, screaming, crying. 

The medics came. 

But Yuuri didn’t need to see their faces to know. 

He cradled Victor’s body against his chest, rocking back and forth, sobbing. 

“Victor,” Yuuri begged. “Coach. _Love_.”


	12. Epilogue & Acknowledgments

Maccachin raced ahead of Yuuri, the final blocks to the rink a well-known path. Just before the doors, he veered off course, pattering to a nearby bed of sakura trees. He pawed at the base of one, sniffing, and let out a whine as he curled up beneath the boughs. It was a young tree but tall for its age, sturdy and beautiful and flourishing. Its blossoms set it apart from the others: a bold scarlet color fading to silvery-white where the others were soft hues of pink. Its roots fanned out almost like butterfly wings, the veins mostly parallel, and its branches danced to the ocean breeze. 

Yuuri approached the tree with both reverence and familiarity, kneeling under the many-blossomed branches. From a nook in the roots he withdrew a small metal chest, tenderly brushing the dirt and petals from its surface before opening it.

“I have another gold medal for you,” Yuuri said, pulling out a shining disc from his jacket and laying it inside the chest, beside three others. The Four Continents had been the hardest, his first competition with Victor in his heart instead of at his side, but they’d won, together, undisputed, and the next seemed to come easily, almost like breathing.

Yuuri gazed at the medals in the box for a moment, the gold matching the ring now settled on his left hand, then closed the lid and tucked it back beneath the roots. He scooted up against the trunk of the tree, leaning on it, letting it catch his weight, and set his hand against the bark. Maccachin nuzzled his head into Yuuri’s lap, the same as he always did whenever they came here. They stayed like that until the air adopted its evening crispness and the sky darkened a shade, then Yuuri rose and went to the rink. 

He pulled on his skates, turned on his music, and glided out onto the ice to be with his love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ACKNOWLEDGMENTS** :
> 
> 1) Above all, thank you to [marmalade_sky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/marmalade_sky/pseuds/marmalade_sky) for requesting "something angsty with Victor" and "hanahaki". Who knew that little request would wind up as a month long fic, eh? I had so much fun exploring the Hanahaki concept and, as Sintina pointed out, acknowledging some of my own unrequited desires for Victor/Yuuri's relationship that the show never satisfied. LOOK WHAT WE MADE TOGETHER! It's like a fic baby ^-^
> 
> 2) To the folks who kept coming back, every chapter, and shared their thoughts and feelings. I wish I could show you the face I make when I get nice comments, but it's probably way too embarrassing. Specific love to:
> 
>   * **marmalade_sky** (AGAIN look at all this love) for your endless enthusiasm and hilarious passion for seeing these boys suffer
>   * **Sintina** for the most gorgeous commentary and insights that made me sit and go "Well Damn!" and a plethora of enjoyable headcanons
>   * **Uhei** for asking fun questions and jamming out ideas
>   * **Heidi_Flutterhawk** (assuming you have stopped crying  <3) for the most enjoyable brain dumps
>   * **Tomato_Potato** for a usericon and username that both always make me gleeful (Phichit!!! Why haven't I ever written Phichit?????)
>   * **katsudon_kisses** for following me from fic to fic to fic - another lovely emotional masochist
>   * And like just a whole bunch of you: **Yinto** , **theglassofmilk** , **Katskiforov** , **MadGurl111** , **Flame** I am forgetting so many GAH I don't deserve you
> 

> 
> 3) And of course to everyone else who read, offered kudos, and commented along the way: THANK YOU. I am obsessed with you. I love you.  
> 
> 
>  **NOTES**  
>  Don't worry! I wrote your happy ending ^-^ I'll post it tomorrow.
> 
> ALSO because it might be a bit confusing: I believe the reason that Yuri beat Yuuri in the show is because Victor essentially said 'if you don't perform he will win gold and leave and you won't have him to compete with anymore'. Without Victor to give Yuri that speech, I doubt he would have been as motivated, and I don't think he would have beaten Yuuri at the Grand Prix. ...... and if that's not acceptable logic, his rink mate and mentor just died, so he probably wasn't in a great emotional state.


	13. Branch: Hard to Believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) This branch in the storyline occurs after Yuuri returns to Hasetsu from the Rostelecom Cup, midway through [Chapter 7](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9406640/chapters/22016669). 
> 
> 2) I'm pretty hopped up on cold meds, so while I attempted to edit this chapter I have a terrible feeling that it might be heaping trash or rampant with spelling errors and duplicate words. Notes on that sort of thing are more than welcome and I'll fix it when my head isn't made of snot cotton. 
> 
> 3) **RATING UPDATE** : The rating for this chapter is ' **Teen** ' as it discusses Victor/Yuuri's physical relationship.

Victor’s plans of hiding the disease from Yuuri were cut short the second morning in Yu-Topia. Yuuri burst into Victor’s room with excitement only to find him still lying in bed, surrounded by a circle of petals. 

“I want to learn the quad—” 

By the time Victor was aware enough to understand what was going on and attempt to wipe the evidence away, it was far too late. 

“Wh… “ Yuuri began, his excitement vanished, replaced with stunned silence. He crawled onto the bed, scooping a handful of petals into his hand. 

“It’s nothing, Yuuri. I—” Victor started.

“Hanahaki?” Yuuri interrupted. 

How did everyone know about this disease but him?

“Your cough…” Yuuri realized. “All this time?” 

Victor coughed as if on cue, and this time he just used the back of his hand, no longer trying to hide the petals that gushed from his throat. 

Yuuri’s face fell as a sudden comprehension struck him. 

“… who is she?” Yuuri whispered.

Victor stared, frowned, sighed.

“Is it really so hard to believe?” Victor asked Yuuri, sitting up and scooting forward to take Yuuri’s hand. He kissed the back of it, just like he had at Fukuoka. 

“What?” Yuuri whispered, blushing under the weight of Victor’s fond attention.

Victor pulled Yuuri’s arm around him, then slid his own around Yuuri’s waist and touched their foreheads together.

“Is it really so hard to believe that I’m in love with you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri made a choking noise, turning bright red.

“Victor!?” 

Victor’s lips hovered right next to Yuuri’s, his stunning gaze alternating between Yuuri’s lips and eyes.

“Yes?” Victor asked, and Yuuri felt every slight change in the air as Victor’s breath passed over his cheek. Yuuri was trembling in Victor’s arms, mouth open, overwhelmed, a hundred different revelations going off at once like fireworks inside of him.

“Kiss me,” Victor encouraged, voice a whisper, but it almost sounded like a plea. 

Yuuri’s flustered expression became even moreso, and then abruptly shifted. He pulled back, touching Victor’s lips with his fingers, and when they came away there was a sakura petal in his palm. 

“I want to heal you,” Yuuri said. With a swallow he set the blossom aside. He glanced all around Victor, trying to collect his courage, and then with a sweet shyness bent forward and pecked his lips against Victor’s. 

“Eros, Yuuri,” Victor murmured, catching the back of Yuuri’s neck and keeping him from moving too far away. “ _Eros_.”

He put his lips near Yuuri’s again. 

With a swallow, Yuuri moved forward at a slower pace, head tilting in opposition to Victor’s as touched their lips together. Yuuri had never felt such electric energy from Victor: the way his lips parted, the way he pulled Yuuri close to him, the noise he made when Yuuri finally tilted his head down and broke the kiss. 

Yuuri took a long moment to breathe. 

“You love me?” he repeated again, gobsmacked.

“So much,” Victor said. “You were worth all of this,” he brushed his hand through the petals, “and I’d do it again in an instant.” 

“…does it hurt?” Yuuri asked.

“Sometimes,” Victor said. “…Less when I’m with you.”

Another blush. 

Victor laughed, quiet, and pulled Yuuri into his lap. “Didn’t you notice how often I try to hold you, Yuuri? Did you really think I was just being a friendly coach?”

Yuuri had forced himself to believe it, because the other option was overwhelming. Even now, he wasn’t sure he was awake. He couldn’t believe it was real, but the look in Victor’s eyes… he’d seen it so many times, thousands of times, over the course of their last eight months together, and only now did Yuuri finally _see_ it.

“Victor,” Yuuri said, riding a sudden swell of emotion, “If this is because I wasn’t returning your love, I want to get rid of it. I want to be with you. I don’t want you to be sick anymore.” Victor’s eyes shone, and Yuuri continued, wanting to get it all out before he lost his nerve: “You asked what you could be to me and I said I didn’t know. But — “ 

_Say it!_ he yelled at himself. 

“— I want you to be my lover,” Yuuri said. 

He turned bright red. 

“…Please,” he added, softer.

And Victor just laughed, and hugged him, and rolled him to the covers to kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him. 

They were so close, for so long, that Victor didn’t even notice the petals sneaking past his lips.

— 

When Victor and Yuuri came downstairs together, hand in hand, his mother beamed. 

“You have news for me?” she said, barely able to contain herself.

Yuuri turned bright red, but Victor just kissed his hair and nudged his back. 

“Mother I — uh — Victor, he’s — not just my coach anymore,” Yuuri said. 

“Yuuri,” Hiroko smiled, pulling them both into an enormous hug. “He was never just your coach.”

— 

Victor woke up the next day spooned around Yuuri. Yuuri had come to his bedroom late in the evening, blushing, and not said a word as he curled up in Victor’s bed and scooted until they were touching. He’d simply said goodnight and not mentioned anything else, just set his glasses down on Victor’s nightstand and pet Maccachin when he came over to investigate. 

In the morning there were still petals, and Yuuri frowned when he woke up and saw them littered across the covers. He twisted to face Victor, whose cough had woken him, and kissed his cheek.

“Why isn’t it working?” Yuuri asked. 

“Maybe it is, and it just takes time?” Victor asked. 

Yuuri shook his head faintly. That wasn’t what he’d been taught. Victor coughed again, curling away from Yuuri, and Yuuri found his eyes latched onto the perfect sculpture of Victor’s back. 

“Maybe we need to…” Yuuri looked dazed for a moment as he realized the magnitude of what he was about to say. “Maybe we need…. More.” 

He bit his lip.

“More than just kisses.”

Victor’s eyes went wide. He was still treating every touch like a blessing from heaven; he hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

“You don’t have to do that, Yuuri,” Victor said. 

Yuuri blushed, twisting his back to Victor and pushing it against him, like begging for reassurance. Victor wrapped around him again, kissing his neck, his jawline. “I’m so happy with the kisses.”

“But if it might _help_ …if it might _save you_ ,” Yuuri repeated, voice shaky, “…would you want to?”

— 

The next few days, in the evenings, after practice, the pair tried to be intimate. It was a [blushing, curious exploration](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9345557/chapters/22240289) of each other, marked by the typical awkwardness of anyone’s first time. There were false starts and shy questions, but throughout it all Yuuri had an unusual determination. Still, by the time they laid together their second week, both panting softly, both gazing exhausted into each other’s eyes, Yuuri cried when Victor suddenly tensed, coughed, and brushed a blossom off his lips.

— 

“We decided to be together,” Victor said, sitting on the padded medical bed. “We tried… everything. But...”

He cleared his throat, and the petal on his tongue was proof enough of the result.

“Love isn’t a conscious choice,” the doctor said, stethoscope moving across Victor’s chest. “One can’t will themselves to love, no matter how hard they try. While living as lovers might eventually evoke the emotion, there’s no guarantee it would happen as quickly as you need it to, if it all.”

He gestured to the x-rays and the maze of roots starting to creep out from Victor’s lungs, touching his stomach and approaching his heart.

“The growth _does_ seem to be slowing down, but it’s not stopping,” the doctor said. “I still recommend immediate surgery.”

Victor glanced towards the door, imagining Yuuri in the waiting room, stressed and anxious.

“But he’s trying. He says he feels it. I believe him, I —” Victor started.

The doctor sighed, taking the stethoscope from his ears. “There are near infinite types of love in this world. He probably does love you, in his own way. It just might not be the way you need.”

That wasn’t what Victor wanted to hear.

“How much time?” he asked. 

“Another week.”

— 

They flew to Barcelona, side by side, and for the first time shared a room. Victor had gotten used to Yuuri’s soothing presence at night, and Yuuri had gotten used to dusting petals off himself when he woke. 

“I choreographed this for you, Yuuri,” Victor said, on the ice beside him during practice. “It wasn’t just thinking about how best to show off your strengths, it was trying to tell you how much I loved you. The first time I saw you dance you were so erotic, I knew I had to capture that in eros.” Victor smiled. “And you still seduce me every time. But feel it for me now. Imagine what we’ve done. You don’t need katsudon anymore.” 

“Hai,” Yuuri nodded. He lifted his chin, tongue glancing across his lower lip. “Will you watch me?” 

Victor caught Yuuri’s chin in his hand, drew him close, and almost, _almost_ kissed him. 

Then he let go, smirked, and blew Yuuri a kiss.

“I won’t take my eyes off you.”

— 

When they were done, Victor wanted to go to bed and rest, but Yuuri insisted on seeing the sights. They wound up spending hours touring Barcelona, shopping and leaning on one another and acting like a young couple in love. 

But at the end of the day Yuuri’s focus turned inward. He stopped communicating and just moved through the crowds, like he’d made some sort of decision but couldn’t figure out what to do about it. Victor walked alongside him, not quite holding hands, but their gloved fingers glanced together on occasion and that always seemed to make Yuuri smile, if distractedly. 

Then Victor bumped into Yuuri, who’d stopped suddenly, his face a mix of shock and embarrassment. 

“What is i—” Victor started, but Yuuri had already darted towards one of the stores. 

The next many minutes were a dream for Victor, too stunned to do more than blink and stare slack-jawed as Yuuri spent almost a thousand euros on two matching, golden bands in their sizes.

Yuuri didn’t say a word to Victor afterwards, just took his hand and started walking towards the iconic golden spires of the Sagrada Familia, the whole way flushed and breathing just a hitch too quickly. 

When he finally stopped they were at the steps of the church, and Yuuri, God as witness, got down on one knee. 

Victor felt the whole world stop, everything on hold for this one perfect moment.

“Victor,” Yuuri started. “You said you wished that I’d never retire. …So that we could be together always, I think. I — I know my career can’t last forever, but… I still want to be with you. I still want to see you every morning. I want to skate with you for the rest of my life. Will you… ” he looked faint, and finally, finally lifted his eyes to meet Victor’s. “…will you marry me?”

Victor didn’t realize he was crying until a crisp breeze swept around them and he felt the chill of it on his cheeks. 

“Yes,” he said. And then, with an emotion-choked laugh: “Yes, Yuuri, yes.”

And Yuuri rose up, and hugged him, and cried as he took off Victor’s glove and slid the golden ring onto his finger. 

“I love you,” Yuuri whispered, then pressed his lips to Victor’s and gasped as Victor lifted him into the air and spun.

— 

The next morning the petals around them were tinged at the edges, slightly brown, but neither of them even noticed. Yuuri and Victor laid on their backs, side by side, holding up their rings beside each other. 

“Fiancé,” Yuuri tested the words. “Victor Nikiforov is my fiancé.” He made a squeaking noise in his throat, unable to believe it was real.

“And your coach,” Victor grinned, “Which means I have to tell you to get out of bed and get ready for your short program.”

Yuuri laughed, “Coach!” 

Victor laced his fingers with Yuuri’s, rolled him over and kissed the beautiful broad stretch of his back. “Get.” Kiss. “Up.” Kiss. “Fiancé.” And he ended it with a smack to Yuuri’s backside. 

“Ai!”

— 

“Skate just for me,” Victor murmured into Yuuri’s ear before his performance. “Drive me wild. Make me desperate.”

He squeezed the hand with the ring, held it against his lips. 

“You know exactly what I like.”

Yuuri just smirked in a way that went straight to Victor’s groin. He leaned on the edge of the wall, watching Yuuri glide to the center of the ice and seduce him like he never had before.

— 

“What did you want to talk about?” Victor asked that night, after he’d shown Yuuri just how much he enjoyed his eros performance. He coughed absently, so used to the action now that neither of them paid attention to the faint brown petal that puffed out. Yuuri bit his lip, sitting up in the bed and pulling his knees to his chest, tense. Victor brushed his fingers up and down Yuuri’s naked back, encouraging, until Yuuri finally blurted:

“I need you.” 

“Huh?” Victor asked. He glanced down the front of Yuuri’s body, wondering if he’d mistaken the little gasp Yuuri usually made for something else. Yuuri turned bright red.

“I mean I need you with me on the ice,” Yuuri stuttered, then turned serious. “You have to come back… even if it means not being my coach.” 

Victor swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“The greatest thrill of my life has always been watching you on the ice, Victor,” Yuuri said. “I’ll never skate better than when I’m up against you.” He fidgeted, playing with the edge of the comforter. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done as my coach… But I would rather have you be my competitor. Please. Come back….. I don’t want to go on without you.”

Victor raised his eyebrow, considering Yuuri’s brow, tense and immovable. 

“Give me a reason to compete,” Victor finally said. “And perhaps I will.” 

— 

As Yuuri landed his quadruple flip Victor gasped, crying out in joy, and that elation lasted to the very end, to Yuuri’s delicate point on the closing note, to the hugs and laughs in the kiss-and-cry. 

And, of course, to the announcement of Yuuri’s score. 

“He’s beaten Victor Nikiforov’s world record for the men’s singles Free Skate, a stunning score!” 

They both just stared, and then Victor turned and held out his hand. Their rings touched together, and Victor pulled Yuuri close. 

“Having both Yuris beat my records is the ultimate bliss as your choreographer and coach,” Victor whispered into Yuuri’s ear. “… But the ultimate diss as your competitor.” 

Yuuri pulled back, grinning from ear to ear. “You’ll come back?” 

And Victor laughed. 

“Only with you.”

— 

“I’m his fiancé,” Yuuri growled, pushing past the nurse and barging in on the conversation Victor was having with the doctor.

“Yuuri!” Victor smiled, holding out an arm, and Yuuri came to Victor’s side and took his hand. 

“Ah! True love returns,” the doctor said, appraising their pose, and then he hung up the latest X-ray. “The organic material is nearly gone, and there’s only a small amount of scar tissue on the lungs. It shouldn’t impact you at all.”

“It’s done?” Victor asked. “No more flowers?”

“Not unless you buy them from a store,” the doctor said.

Yuuri turned to Victor, beaming, and wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist. “So he can start training again?” 

“Yes, any sort of physical activity should be fine,” and his glance made them both blush, “though of course if you find yourself in pain you should take it easy.”

Victor nodded, then looked slyly over at Yuuri.

“Race you to the ice?” 

— 

They skated side by side, Yuuri shadowing Victor’s familiar choreography, the choreography that had brought them together in the first place. As Yuuri leapt, Victor elevated him, spinning with Yuuri in his arms, and then seamlessly set him down again. 

“Stay close to me,” Victor said, as they gathered speed for their quadruple flips. 

“Always.”


	14. Branch: Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This branch begins when Yuuri discovers Victor’s disease after exchanging rings in Barcelona. Even after Victor confesses his love, Yuuri believes Victor’s referring to another.

> He put his lips close to Yuuri’s, foreheads touching, noses side by side. Praying Yuuri understood.
> 
> “I’m sorry, Victor,” Yuuri whispered, jealousy tinging his words. “I can’t imagine anyone not loving you.”

And something… changed.

For a second it was as though Victor wasn’t even there. He saw the pair of them from the outside, looking in: Victor, confessing everything to Yuuri, and Yuuri like an oblivious wall, so convinced of his own worthlessness he couldn’t even imagine Victor’s love. 

Victor took a quivering breath and found it wasn’t quite so hard as it normally was.

“It was you, Yuuri,” Victor said. “I love _you_.”

Only as he said it something felt… off. He cleared the petals out of his throat, swallowed them down, and stared in confusion at Yuuri, who was looking equally stunned at Victor’s confession. 

“I know you never thought of me as a lover… I was always your idol or your coach or your friend,” Victor said. “But I choreographed Eros to tell you how I feel. My love is romantic, and passionate, and ….” 

He couldn’t continue. He stopped, looking away from Yuuri, and frowned. Not at what he’d said, but because it didn’t feel the same as it normally did, and he didn’t want to know why.

— 

Yuuri wanted to love him. 

And Yuuri tried. 

And, slowly, the petals even faded. 

Victor went home to Hasetsu with Yuuri, holding his hand like a lover, and met his parents and showed off the silver medal and the two gold rings. They talked about practicing for their respective nationals and when they might get married. 

The surgery to stitch up the internal wounds from the roots went well, and Victor came out of it healthy, if somewhat prone to getting winded. Yuuri was there waiting for him as he woke from the anesthesia, groggy and high and mumbling nonsense.

“Yuuri love,” he sputtered. “No more petals, no more, no more… Yuuri love. Stay anyway… take care… Yuuri…” 

Yuuri took him home and laid him down and never thought to wonder about any of it. 

— 

Their relationship never truly encompassed eros; Yuuri had been skittish enough around Victor that the extent of their intimacy was sharing a bed and sleeping spooned together in their underwear. They hugged. They cuddled. They kissed. And that was it. 

To all appearances, they were happily together, but Victor’s choreography for his return at nationals was aggressive, almost violent, and filled with crisis. His blades would saw up the ice and his arms whipped between positions. He drove himself raw adding quads. 

He told Yuuri it was about his time with the disease, and Yuuri believed him.

At least for awhile. 

— 

At least until he walked into the locker room at Worlds and found Chris and Victor with their lips a hair width apart and Chris’ hand groping Victor and Victor with a flavor of smirk on his features that Yuuri hadn’t seen since…. since Victor had the disease. 

When Victor saw him, he weaseled out from Chris’ pinning grip, an apology already on his lips, but Yuuri just stared at him, glared at him, and took to the ice with such outraged passion that he ranked first in the short program, beating both of them. 

He woke up in the morning and, like a dream, found a petal on his pillowcase.

— 

“So this is how it is,” Yuuri said. “…You don’t love me.”

He held out the petal to Victor, and Victor stared at it like a bad memory, cringing. 

“I didn’t have the heart to tell you,” Victor said. That night, at the cathedral, something had finally broken. Falling out of love had been just as painful as going in, in some ways.

“It didn’t heal because I loved you?” Yuuri frowned. 

Victor sighed, staring down at the golden ring on his finger. The image started to tremor as his eyes filled with tears. 

“No,” he whispered.

“And now….” Yuuri swallowed. _And now I finally do… and you don’t._ The silence grew in the room, expanding like some sort of insatiable monster until it was slain by Yuuri’s quiet cough. “… I’ll get it removed, then.”

He wanted Victor to say no, to deny it, to say that he loved him, that he would do for Yuuri what Yuuri thought he’d done for Victor. 

But Victor just sighed, nodded. “It’s… for the best, I think…”

Tears poured over and Yuuri shook, crying quietly. Victor embraced him, that hug so familiar, but it had never caused Yuuri so much pain. 

“It’s okay,” Victor said. “I’ll still be here for you. I’ll still coach you and care about you.”

“But not love me,” Yuuri sobbed. 

“…Not that way.”

— 

_Katsuki’s short program was choreographed by his coach and rival, Victor Nikiforov, but admittedly it seems to lack the passion we’ve come to expect with these two_ , the announcer’s voice filled the stadium as Yuuri skated.

_The question is, will it be enough to get Katsuki on the podium?_

The answer was no.

— 

“I’m retiring,” Yuuri said. 

Victor had been expecting this, but the shock of it still made his chest quake.

“I understand,” Victor said. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

“It wasn’t you,” Yuuri said. “…. It was Us.”

He grabbed Victor’s hand, kissing the golden ring. 

“If I no longer need you as my coach,” Yuuri began, but he didn’t know how to finish it. Or he did, and he desperately didn’t want to.

“… I understand,” Victor murmured, hearing everything Yuuri failed to say.

— 

St. Petersburg wasn’t the same without Yuuri, nor Hasetsu the same without Victor.

In the beginning they called and texted constantly, but that too, over time, began to fade.

When Yuuri saw Victor on screen at the matches, with his new students, he was almost like a stranger, and Victor didn’t see Yuuri at all. 

They created their own lives without each other, growing new friendships to fill the hole where the other used to be. 

Only the rings stayed, glinting, like metal tattoos to encompass a memory that neither of them dared let go.


	15. Branch: Exit Tragedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) This branch occurs after Victor and Yuuri return to Hasetsu, after Rostelecom and before the Grand Prix.
> 
> 2) So, [Azile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenriz/pseuds/Azile) commented on the original ending with a totally brilliant twist. I was immediately desperate to write it, because it sounded like an even more tragic / horrific way to end the story than the original. Then I wrote, and, well, you'll see. 
> 
> 3) Wowwww y'all we hit 300 kudos! I am still amazed that people enjoy my silly blathers. Thank you so much for the loves and support and kudos and comments and all things nice <3

It was better with Yuuri there, in Hasetsu, but it still wasn’t enough.

Victor collapsed again at the edge of the rink, one moment there, watching Yuuri, following the S of his footwork across the ice, and the next crumpled before the stands. It didn’t last as long as the first time he’d lost consciousness - a few quick, desperate shakes from Yuuri and Victor’s eyes were flying open as he coughed lungful after lungful of petals onto the floor. There was no hope hiding his condition after that, but Victor hurt too much to care. Yuuri was cradling him, and he was so focused on the comforting sensation of Yuuri’s arms that he didn’t realize, for a second, that tears were streaming down Yuuri’s face.

Victor’s hand came up to Yuuri’s cheek, fingertips catching on the warm, salty drops. He never knew what to do when Yuuri cried. 

“It’s OK,” Victor rasped. “It’s just a disea—”

“I know what it is,” Yuuri whispered, voice cutting out, and the tears only gushed harder. Victor felt them run down the side of his hand, like a dream. Why did Yuuri look so broken? 

Yuuri scrubbed one hand against his eyes.

“Who are they for?” Yuuri asked. Victor watched Yuuri’s shoulders curl, bracing himself for whatever the answer was. 

“You,” Victor coughed. “They’ve always been for you.”

Victor kept trying to wipe Yuuri’s tears off his cheek, chin, but they kept coming.

“You love me?” Yuuri asked, blinking at the tears that simply wouldn’t stop.

“Yes,” Victor said, instantly, with all of his heart. He wanted it to feel like freedom, but the expression on Yuuri’s face when he confirmed it wasn’t joy or reciprocation or acceptance… it was agony. 

“Yuuri… what —”

“I loved you, too,” Yuuri choked, speaking through teeth clenched in pain. He was barely holding himself together. “I loved you, too. I loved you, Victor, I loved you…”

Victor’s heart plummeted out of his body.

“…Loved?” he echoed.

Yuuri clutched Victor, rocking backwards and forwards on his knees like it hurt too much to speak. Victor didn’t understand, didn’t know what to say. His chest was aching, and he wound up coughing again, petals pooling against Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri stared down at them, tears catching on the pinkish white wisps like dew. 

“Mine were chamomile…” Yuuri whispered, finally. “The petals. Last year… at the Grand Prix…” 

Victor’s breath shortened, on the verge of understanding and desperately not wanting to.

“Yuuri…” Victor started, but Yuuri shook his head, turned away. 

“What chance did I have with you?” Yuuri whispered. “It was impossible. I told myself it was impossible. You were Victor Nikiforov and I was…”

He saw himself crash onto the ice. He saw himself sobbing in the toilet. 

“I was nothing.”

Victor felt his eyes fill and then overflow with liquid. 

“You…” he started, but the pain of comprehension silenced him, “… you had it removed…”

That was why… for all of Yuuri’s fondness, for all of Victor’s forward approach: 

It wasn’t that Yuuri was oblivious, didn’t feel anything in return despite Victor’s clear affections.

It was that Yuuri _couldn’t_ feel anything in return, regardless of Victor’s affections. 

—

“You can see him now,” the nurse said, and Yuuri was on his feet in an instant. His mother gave him a fond pat on the back when he paused, suddenly terrified of what he might find. 

“Go on,” she encouraged, always with that supportive smile. 

Yuuri steeled himself and followed the nurse to the recovery room, but he still wasn’t prepared. Victor was so young, so healthy, and yet there he was in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV and oxygen, face looking sallow and eyes sunken. Yuuri felt his chest cramp at the sight, but he swallowed and forced himself forward.

“Yuuri,” Victor said when he came into his field of view. The two locked eyes, each cautious and treading on eggshells, Victor figuring out what he felt, Yuuri hoping desperately it wasn’t ’nothing’. 

A squeaking, rolling stool rested by the bed and Yuuri sat on it, picking up Victor’s hand.

“You’re crying again,” Victor said, but he was too weak to move his hand to catch the tears. 

“…I’m sorry, coach,” Yuuri murmured. 

The silence that followed was filled with unspoken questions, unease, and a growing rift of doubt. Victor was staring at him, almost studious, or confused, brow furrowed and bright eyes dampened as he came to terms with whatever it was he felt now when he looked at Yuuri. 

Yuuri couldn’t stand it. 

“Victor, I… after the Grand Prix… we should end this,” Yuuri said.

Victor expected to feel himself choke. He expected to cough up a lungful of petals. It still hurt, hearing Yuuri reject him, but it was no longer killing him.

“… Now you’re crying,” Yuuri mumbled.

“I’m angry!” Victor said, and he couldn’t even curl his fingers into a fist to emphasize. He was exhausted.

“You came here under false pretense! You thought I could love you but I can’t - not, not like that — and now, now if you don’t feel anything for me anymore, I don’t want to — I can’t trap you. It’s not fair. Everyone wants you on the ice and I can’t keep you off it —” 

“ _Baka_!” Victor said, and even his loudest was barely more than speaking volume. It still silenced Yuuri, made him stare at Victor in surprise.

“You had it removed and you still called what we had love,” Victor said. “Yet you think I feel _nothing_ for you?”

Yuuri looked down at his hands.

“You’re still my friend,” Victor said. “You’re still my pupil. You’re still the one I’ve spent the last 8 months of my life with.” Yuuri was frozen, not quite daring to hope. “You’re still my inspiration. You’re still my challenge. You’re still…” his voice went soft, so soft Yuuri almost didn’t hear: “You’re still my Yuuri.”

Maybe Victor’s chest didn’t hurt as much. Maybe his heartbeat didn’t race quite the same way. But he still felt joy, and he still felt affection, and he still wanted to be with Yuuri, regardless.

“Victor…” Yuuri began, and then he was leaning over the bed, hugging Victor, tubes and wires be damned. Victor couldn’t get his arm around Yuuri, so he settled for turning his hand to the side to rest against him. 

“Are you ready to show the world our new love?” Victor asked.

Yuri nodded, their wet cheeks pressed together. 

“Then let me rest,” Victor teased. “So we can go to Barcelona, and you can win us a gold medal.”

Yuuri gave him a last squeeze, evoking a soft, petal-less cough. When he’d retreated to the door he gazed back at Victor, who was staring at him thoughtfully from the bed.

“It _is_ still love, Victor,” Yuuri murmured. “What I feel.”

Victor smiled softly, closing his eyes and leaning back, feeling the exhaustion wrap around him like a blanket.

“Me too.”

— 

There was something about the shy, determined twinkle in Yuuri’s eye as he slid the golden ring onto Victor’s finger. Victor expected to feel the roots squeeze his lungs, or pierce his heart, but in the absence of that exquisite agony Victor finally had the opportunity to appreciate Yuuri exactly as he was. To meet him on the same emotional level. To see the more subtle feelings that Victor had been blind to in his desperate search for romantic, passionate love.

“I know we both lost our love,” Yuuri stuttered. “But we also both felt that love. And… even if it’s gone, there’s still something… something I want to hold on to. I want to take it with me on the ice.” 

His cheeks were bright red. “… Say something for good luck?” he begged beneath his breath.

The ring glimmered on Victor’s finger, the gold aglow in the light from the church. He stared at it, then took the second ring and lifted Yuuri’s hand. 

“That’s easy,” Victor said with a smile. “Tomorrow, show the world that love comes in all forms. Show them the love that’s just for you and I.”

— 

“… Do you really want to get married?” Yuuri asked. 

He dropped the last box of his things onto the floor of Victor’s room. No— _their_ room. Victor was already helping him unpack, pulling out his clothes and tucking them into the (admittedly much smaller) portion of the closet that Victor had cleared for him. 

“Well, you didn’t win gold,” Victor teased. He took Yuuri’s hand as he sauntered over, kissing the back of it. 

Yuuri shuffled, unable as always to tell where exactly the edge of Victor’s jokes fell. 

“Is that what you want?” Victor asked. “Coach. Rival. Friend. Add husband to the list?”

Yuuri couldn’t resist Victor’s playful attitude entirely.

“What will people say?” Yuuri smirked.

“Marrying your coach? Marrying your rival?” Victor gasped. “ _The scandal_.”

“We’re already living together,” Yuuri said, gesturing to the boxes. He took out his phone, then sat down next to a particularly perilous looking stack and pulled Victor down with him. Victor’s automatic reaction in front of any camera was to look beautiful, so it wasn’t hard to get a picture of them leaning on one another, surrounded by boxes and lit by the broad windows of Victor’s room. Yuuri clasped his right hand with Victor’s, holding them up for the photo, while Victor hugged him with the other.

Yuuri grinned at Victor and turned away to write the caption. 

_Moving in with my coach, my rival, and finally my fiancé. I love you, Victor._

He showed the unposted image to Victor with a coy smile, eyes alight.

“Well, Victor?” Yuuri asked, “Will you marry me?” 

Victor soaked in the image, and the words, and the look in Yuuri’s eyes. 

The love in Yuuri’s eyes.

Before he allowed himself to think too hard about it, his finger came up and he hit the share button. There were so many ways it could go wrong, so many questions about living without that romantic passion, so many potential pitfalls. 

But wasn’t that how any marriage worked? 

And wasn’t their love all that really mattered?

The post appeared on Yuuri’s timeline, the joy of their smiles so clear, side by side, twin gold bands between them.

“Yes.”


End file.
